


More Than I Ever Dared To Hope For

by sal_si_puedes



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gift Fic, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_si_puedes/pseuds/sal_si_puedes
Summary: Once your soul mate is born, a mark appears on your skin. After that, it depends on fate if you find your soul mate. Harvey's mark appears when he is nine years old, almost ten. It takes him many years to find Mike - and when he finally does, something always comes up that prevents him from revealing himself to Mike.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolfzaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfzaa/gifts).



> Check out [this amazing gifset](http://marveysecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/155244184002/belated-merry-christmas-wolf-zaa-title-more), Erin (aka [fuckyeahmarvey](http://fuckyeahmarvey.tumblr.com/), aka [TheDevilsDuchess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDevilsDuchess/pseuds/TheDevilsDuchess)) has created to go along with this fic!!
> 
> For [Zaalin](http://wolf-zaa.tumblr.com/) as a belated [Marvey Secret Santa](http://marveysecretsanta.tumblr.com/) gift! Thank you for jumping in as such a lovely pinch hitter! Love your work! <3

For the first whole nine years of his life, Harvey Specter’s skin had been immaculate. 

Unblemished, except of course for the scratches and bruises and tears he had caught playing outdoors or in the attic and for those skateboarding and boxing camp had caused, except for a couple of moles and freckles, and of course except for the scars and tattoos he had drawn himself: fancy ones that consisted of many stitches, simple ones with just a few lines, hearts, skulls, words and patterns, ball-pen and felt-tipped pen. They had come and gone, those marks, and Harvey had always watched them fade with soap and time and always, always with a hint of lingering suspicion throbbing in his chest. 

He had always known that those marks wouldn’t stay, even when he would use a waterproof marker. He had always known – even though his mother had told him that one could never know something like that for sure. Gordon, on the other hand, had just looked him in the eye and had given his small hand a short squeeze before he had said to him, again and again: “You’ll know, Harvey. You will know when it’s the one.”

Turns out, his father had been right, for in the middle of one long, dark night – Harvey had been almost ten years old by then and had almost given up on the thought that a soul mate was something that was in the cards for him somewhere – the skin on his groin had burned hot for a second, on his right side, right where his leg started, in that small, tender hollow where the skin is thin and every touch tingles. Harvey had almost knocked over the rocket-shaped bedside lamp on his night stand trying to switch it on, but he had been able to grab and catch it just in time to save it from falling.

Marcus, little Marcus, had been shaken from his sleep by the ruckus though and, sitting up in his bed on the other side of the room and rubbing his sleepy eyes with his tiny fists, had watched, yawning, as Harvey had lifted his t-shirt and pulled down his pajama pants a little. 

“Wow,” Marcus had whispered, and his voice had only barely carried over the sound of the storm and hail raging outside and tapping at the window with long, bony, icy fingers. 

Harvey hadn’t been able to help but stare at his no longer unblemished skin. He had stared at the mark that stood out almost too clearly in the dim light of the rocket lamp until his eyes had started to burn and Marcus had sunk back into his pillows and fallen asleep. 

*****

Usually Harvey makes sure that he wears at least a t-shirt and some boxers in bed and usually he pulls those boxers on as soon as the condom is off of his cock and disposed of. He does it under the covers so nobody gets to see, and it’s always as dark in the room as it can be, the lights are always turned off and the curtains are drawn. 

Tonight, he must have made the mistake to fall asleep though, too worn out after the long week and the celebratory drinks with Jessica, the previous months and months of back-and-forth negotiations resting heavy in his bones. 

He wakes up to the sensation of fingers ghosting over his skin and he catches himself just in time before he displays a true knee-jerk reaction and kicks whoever is touching him there right in the face. 

The fingers are delicate and their touches are tender but they feel so wrong that bile instantly rises in Harvey’s throat and his head begins to spin. He swallows against the nausea and quickly opens his eyes.

“Beautiful,” Lisa murmurs, her eyes fixed on Harvey’s groin. “So unique…” She has switched on the lamp on the night stand and her eyes are following the movements of her fingers.

“Yeah,” Harvey says and pulls away, hiding his lower body under the covers again. “That’s what they say. They are _one of a kind_.” He forces a grin onto his face and fishes for his boxers at the foot of the bed, cursing himself inwardly. He should have been more careful. Only a very, very few people have seen his mark so far. Marcus of course, he was the first after Harvey himself during that night so many years ago, then a couple of doctors and maybe his mother, but Harvey isn’t entirely sure of that, and if she has seen it then it happened just once. From the very beginning it had felt quite essential to him not to let anyone see. 

In his mind, he keeps cursing at himself while he climbs out of bed, but on the outside he smiles. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Lisa smiles back. “But—“ she pauses briefly and draws her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, “that’s actually _not_ what they say. It’s… there are always _two_ of a kind. And this one _here_ —“ she points at Harvey’s groin “—is not entirely unique.”

“What?” 

She raises her head and locks eyes with Harvey.

“I’ve seen this before.”

Harvey blinks.

“A mark, you mean.” Of course that’s what she meant. They are not all that rare, actually, a lot of people have them, and she’s clearly someone who likes to have fun. Harvey reaches for his t-shirt and starts to pull it over his head.

“No.” She shakes her head and lowers her gaze again for a moment, her eyes darting to Harvey’s groin, before she continues. “I mean _this_ mark. Right there.”

Harvey freezes in mid-movement, the t-shirt halfway down his chest, and he doesn’t even care how stupid he has to look. His knees go weak for a moment and he shakes his head quickly to regain composure.

Nevertheless, he has to clear his throat twice before he can speak again.

“When? Who?”

He doesn’t want a soul mate, he certainly doesn’t _need_ one, but ever since he has first laid eyes on his mark there had been this knowledge, this gnawing certainty and this longing that he had never been able to shake completely. 

Resisting the urge to sit down on the edge of the bed, Harvey tilts his head and wills his fingers not to curl into fists. He has to muster all his strength to remain standing still and not to ask again.

“Couple of years ago,” Lisa says, looking up again. “Before… before I got my shit together and started working at _Le Lion_.” She furrows her brow and worries her lower lip between her teeth. “College dude, I think. A bit of a fuck-up, actually. Hooked up with him at one of those parties, I think. Pothead. Insanely clever though. Kind of a genius.”

Her face lights up and she rises to her knees. “Kinda weird I slept with both of you, with both guys of a set of soul mates,” she grins and holds out her hand. “Wanna make it a repeat performance? After all, pot dude did…”

Harvey shakes his head. Lisa is all the right kinds of beautiful and she looks good enough to eat in her exquisite lingerie, but he’s probably less in the mood for sex than he has ever been. There’s a lot to digest and he wishes she were gone and he were alone.

He turns around and walks into his closet, absentmindedly picking out his clothes for the day, white shirt and gray suit. He should go to the gym and get a good work-out, maybe that’ll help him steady his heartbeat and focus. When he’s almost fully dressed, he steps into his bedroom again, only to find Lisa still in her lingerie and still in his bed. She’s holding out a mug of coffee to him, she must have prepared it while he was getting dressed. 

His fingers tremble slightly when he takes it from her hand, making him frown. He lets his suit jacket drop onto the bed and heads for the door to the deck. A deep breath of fresh air, that’s the ticket.

“His name…” Lisa’s words come slowly and Harvey can barely make them out over the rush of blood in his ears, “I think his name was something with Ross. Kyle Ross? No, not Kyle. I think it was Mike. Mike Ross?”

Harvey instantly knows that she remembers correctly.

*****

The first time Harvey wants to tell Mike is the very first time he lays eyes on him. Donna introduces him as Rick Sorkin, but Harvey doesn’t buy that for a second. He wants to tell Mike even before they shake hands and the briefcase snaps open and all the pot spills out and slides all over the floor.

He wants to tell him when they shake hands and he wants to tell him after, when they’re seated at the weirdly pretentious hotel desk, but Mike is incredibly flustered. He’s also on the run from the police and/or from drug dealers who are possibly out to have him killed or at least beaten to a bloody pulp because he made a run for it with their briefcase full of drugs. 

So he doesn’t tell him then, even though it’s on the tip of his tongue the entire time. He hires him instead. Mike’s mind is just so goddamn beautiful and for a moment just listening to him assuages the need and longing Harvey has felt deep inside ever since that night so many years ago. Mike’s eyes are glistening with excitement, surprise and joy and Harvey wonders if he’s feeling anything at all as well, anything connected to the mark – and if he does what he thinks might be going on.

It’s all Harvey can do not to pull Mike into his arms and hold him close for the rest of their lives. Part of him hopes Mike doesn’t notice the way he looks at him, the intense longing that must be clearly visible in his eyes, or if he does that at least he doesn’t understand. A much larger part of him though prays that he does both – notice and understand.

His only consolation is that he will have Mike close by for the foreseeable future, at least that’s what he tells himself over and over again the night after he has hired Mike over several glasses of eighteen years old scotch. He tells himself that this way he will be able to watch over Mike, to guide him and to show him a way out of his current life of drugs and failure and into one that fits. At least like this, Mike will be protected.

Mike is going to thrive and Harvey will take the utmost care to make him happy and to help him live up to his insane potentials, to become his true, beautiful self.

Harvey snorts at his maudlin, foolish sentimentality as he knocks back his last drink for the night.

*****

Each day is sheer temptation and on some days Harvey has to leave the office early or send Mike away so he doesn’t let it slip. The time is never right and he wants the time to be exactly right when he discloses himself to Mike, when he tells Mike what they are.

Sometimes he catches himself staring at Mike while Mike is working, his brow slightly furrowed and the cap of a lighter between his lips, munching on stale chips absentmindedly, or while he’s talking – to Harvey, to others, eyes glowing and cheeks flushed with excitement and his lips so incredibly pink it makes Harvey’s eyes water. He always manages to catch himself in time though and to get himself under control again before Mike notices. He is very grateful for that. 

He tells himself that he can keep it in check, that he can be at Mike’s side as this silent presence, and that that will be enough.

Of course, he’s kidding himself, he’s well aware of that, and even though Mike may not notice nor understand, others do.

Donna, for example. She accosts him in his office one night near the end of Mike’s first month at the firm, at a time when everybody else has already gone home. She corners him and blocks the way to the door at the same time somehow so he can’t get away. She sits him down in a way only she can and looks him square in the eyes. Harvey is sure she has waited for that kind of opportunity for quite a while as she looks incredibly pleased with herself.

“So, when are you going to tell him?” she asks without any ado, and she only raises her eyebrows when Harvey tries to play innocent.

“Tell him _what_?”

And then she does what she does best even if she rarely does it, and especially not with him. She waits. She doesn’t say a thing. She just crosses her legs and leans back in her chair, her arms crossed and her eyes wide, and waits.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, avoiding her eyes and pursing his lips. “Never?”

She raises her eyebrows even further.

“The time has never been right,” he tries to defend himself. “And what if he doesn’t—“

“What if he doesn’t _what_?” Donna rises from her chair and shakes her head. “Harvey, under usual circumstances I’d say it is impossible to fuck up something like this, but the way _you_ ’re playing this? I honestly don’t know…”

She turns on her heels and stalks out of the room, murmuring something unintelligible under her breath.

 _But he’s happy like this,_ Harvey thinks, and that thought tastes both bitter and sweet. _He doesn’t need anything else, and certainly not a—_. And that’s his job after all, isn’t it? To see that Mike is happy.

It’s even worse when they argue or when Mike is hurt. When Mike wants to run and leave or when he’s in danger, in any kind of danger. When he’s tired and overworked and when he smiles. It’s worst, really, when he smiles at Harvey. 

Harvey can’t count the moments when he almost tells Mike, the first night he tries to leave, the morning he is back, his first win, his first loss, the night they have to fire Stanley Jacobsen, the other night when Jessica tells him to fire Mike.

The following morning Harvey almost breaks down and spills the beans. He almost tells Mike that he’d rather defy Jessica than let him go, that he’d rather go himself than stay without Mike. That he’d do anything for Mike, anything – and even without blinking an eye. That they could leave together. That they should, that they really, really should.

Instead, he tells Mike that he’s proud of him. It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself and Donna reads him the riot act afterwards for still not having come clean. She only does it with her eyes, with one look only, but that doesn’t make it any less effective.

He’s determined to tell Mike when Grammy has died. He’s convinced that Grammy had known, the look she had given him the one time they had met had spoken volumes. And asked for even more. _Tell him,_ it had said, _for the love of god, please, tell him. I’m going to rip you to shreds if you don’t tell him soon._

So, the day after she has died he puts aside everything else that might be going on at the firm and makes his way over to Brooklyn. He has two glasses of scotch before he leaves though, and his head is already slightly spinning when he knocks on Mike’s raggedy door.

Once he’s inside Mike’s tiny, cluttered apartment, he takes a deep breath and his eyes land on the freshly rolled joint on the coffee table and he thinks _why not_. It might make things easier – for him to say and for Mike to take in. And then things go exactly as things usually go when you’re stoned – not precisely the way you had planned them before you took that first drag.

They end up at the firm again in the middle of the night and for some reason Mike has to keep him from beating up Louis. Then they’re on to Daniel Hardman and neither of them can take a drug test the following day, which almost costs Harvey his goddamn job _again_.

Then there’s Tess and Rachel and Jenny on the one side and Zoe and Scottie and various other bodies on the other and Mike leaves the firm to work for Jonathan fucking _Sidwell_ and there’s nothing Harvey can do to stop it, and even if there were Harvey’s not sure that that’s what Mike needs right now so he keeps it to himself once more.

And so Mike really leaves and Scottie leaves and Mike comes back, of course he does, but then Donna leaves and Mike proposes to Rachel, who says _yes_ , of course, who wouldn’t, and all of a sudden there’s a complete stranger telling him to get a grip and man up. It should be easy for her to understand why he can’t, Harvey thinks, but apparently it isn’t, even though he is paying her to. Apparently it’s this huge deal, this one big obstacle he has to overcome – and what does she mean with “real relationships” anyway?

His relationship with Mike is as real as a relationship can possibly get and they both know it, both he and Mike.

That’s why he doesn’t break down when Mike leaves yet again, this time for good, letter of resignation and all. Mike is going to be okay, Harvey is sure of that. He has Rachel and he will have a family of his own one day, so what on god’s green earth would he need a soul mate for? His life is as perfect as a life can be and that’s what counts, after all. That’s the only thing that counts. Harvey isn’t even tempted to tell him when he hugs him goodbye, and he isn’t either when Mike hugs back and holds him close. 

Next, Mike gets himself arrested and no matter what Harvey does or tries – neither Mike nor Gibbs are willing to budge and give even an inch and when Mike asks him to be his best man, when he tells him he wants to marry Rachel before he goes to prison after taking that stupid, goddamn fucking deal, it’s not the right time to tell him either. For a brief moment though, Harvey believes that telling Mike might be the only thing to convince him to let Harvey take the deal instead of him because it’s not just his _fault_ that Mike is stuck in this whole mess but also his _responsibility_ , his duty to get him out of it again – surely Mike would _have_ to understand that if he only knew… Instead, he lets Mike beat him bloody, at least it’s just his face that hurts for a moment. When they’re both on the floor, he can’t take his eyes away from Mike’s bruised knuckles – and just like that, the moment is gone.

In the end, it’s nothing but Harvey’s foolish- and selfishness that lands Mike in prison and a visiting room is hardly the place to speak of such things and neither is the back of a car with Mike half-drugged or freshly fucked on the way from and back to Danbury. 

So, of course, he confirms that he is still more than willing to be Mike’s best man when Mike asks him again, afterwards, when he’s out, over a glass of scotch. If that is what Mike wants, what he needs, then that will be what Harvey is going to give him. For the life of him, Harvey doesn’t understand why the question in Mike’s eyes doesn’t go away once Harvey has said that _yes, of course_ he will, and that he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

They haven’t set a date for the wedding yet, Mike tells him, and they want to take their time this time around. There’s still a lot they have to sort through and to work on, Mike’s future, for example, and whether he should take the job Harvey has offered him or not.

Apparently, working through things is not exactly easy and also not going so very well, at least that’s was Mike tells him, again over scotch, a few weeks later and then again in December when he’s been out of jail for almost half a year and has been trying to make do as a bike messenger for far too long a time. 

Apparently, Rachel isn’t happy about the whole situation and Mike only half-believes her that that’s the case because she’s worried about him. He’s sure that there’s something else the matter, that there’s something profoundly wrong, something _missing_. Something that has always been missing, the whole time, even before. At least that’s what he tells Harvey after the fourth scotch, his words already slightly slurred and his lips probably a little numb and buzzing with the alcohol. 

“I know,” is all Harvey says. “I’m sorry.” He clenches his jaws and nods curtly before he drains his drink and orders another round. Macallan 25. At least the hangover will be worth it.

After that it’s at first just on rare occasions that Mike drops by Harvey’s place late in the evening, his hair slightly disheveled and his breath smelling of alcohol. But as the weeks and months pass by Harvey gets more and more practiced opening the door and letting Mike step inside, watching him walk down the hallway and drop onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands or running his fingers through his already far too messy hair.

He gets accustomed to the stories Mike tells him, the doubts, the questions, the sighs and the silence. 

He listens and he fixes drinks. He makes breakfast in the morning and puts water and aspirin on the bedside table in the guest room before he leaves for work.

In the end, it happens almost every Friday, Mike coming over and staying the night, almost like a clockwork. So the frantic knocking on his door one late Saturday evening takes Harvey a little by surprise. 

Mike storms past him, his hair even more ruffled than usual, and this time it is scotch on his breath, cheap one, and his eyes shoot daggers at Harvey when he turns around right next to the kitchen island.

“Mike?”

Harvey stops and frowns. Mike is furious but he’s also very obviously hurting and Harvey briefly wonders what Rachel has done now. That is, until Mike starts yelling at him.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“What?” Maybe playing dumb is the ticket tonight. In any case, it’s all Harvey can come up with as his defense strategy on the spur of the moment.

“Or weren’t you?”

“What? Mike, what are you—“

“I met Lisa.”

Mike’s eyes have narrowed to slits and his hands are balled into tight, angry fists. 

“ _Who?_ ”

“Come on, Harvey. As if you don’t know. She’s still working at that bar where you picked her up back then. Before we met.”

There is nothing more to say, really, at least Harvey’s mind draws a complete blank, so he remains silent.

“So, were you?”

“Were I what?”

“ _Harvey!_ ”

“No.” He shakes his head. There are no more lies left to tell, no more stalling tactics to be employed. None of that is necessary anymore. “No, I wasn’t.”

Mike’s eyes flare up one more time and then Mike basically deflates in front of Harvey’s eyes. He shakes his head and staggers to the sofa where he lets himself fall into the upholstery just like last night. Shaking his head again, he looks up.

“Why?”

“You were happy.”

“Yeah, right.” Mike huffs and shakes his head once more. “ _Happy._ ”

“Mike…” Harvey falls silent and shrugs. “I thought—“

“You’ve known for all those years,” Mike states and Harvey nods. It’s a short, dry nod accompanied by a painful, dry swallow. 

“Yeah.” 

Harvey’s throat hurts, it feels raw and tight, and he fears that his voice sounds just like it, hoarse and thin and broken and not like himself at all.

Mike rubs his palms over his face and shakes his head again. It seems to be all he’s able to do, so Harvey lets him. His eyes dart to the liquor cart and he contemplates fixing Mike a drink and himself as well, another one, just because that’s all he can think of doing right now.

When Mike doesn’t move and just stays like that, his face buried in his hands, Harvey slowly walks over and pours them two glasses of scotch. The silence weighs heavily, filling the whole room like a shroud, and his footsteps as he crosses the floor sound hollow and somehow incredibly wrong.

“Here,” he says and his throat still hurts so badly it makes his eyes sting. He holds out Mike’s glass for some seconds before Mike looks up and blinks.

“Tha—thank you,” Mike croaks and takes the glass from Harvey’s hand with trembling fingers, his eyes never leaving Harvey’s. He sets the glass down in front of him without taking a sip. “I want to see it,” he whispers and Harvey’s stomach lurches. 

He doesn’t want to, he dreads the moment this becomes even more real than it already is, but he also longs to let the one person who really matters, the one person who is meant to see finally see. It’s Mike’s right, Harvey knows that, and it still surprises him that he feels it too.

He sets his glass down next to Mike’s and carefully unbuttons his trousers. Taking a deep breath, he pulls the waistband of his boxer briefs down just far enough so the mark becomes visible.

Mike holds his breath. It shouldn’t be possible to hear someone holding their breath but Harvey can hear it, he can hear Mike’s rapid yet gradually slowing heartbeat and the blood rushing through his veins as clearly as he hears his own. His eyes follow Mike’s hand as Mike reaches out – and pauses. Mike’s hand hovers in the air for a second, for two and then three, until Harvey slowly nods.

The moment Mike touches his mark knocks the air out of Harvey’s lungs and he realizes he must have been holding his own breath as well. Mike’s fingers burn hot against his skin and for the first time ever a touch to the mark doesn’t feel as if someone was touching scar tissue. Harvey can’t remember anything so intense, so intimate, and he only barely registers that he’s growing hard as Mike traces his fingers along the mark oh so slowly and with infinite care. 

“Beautiful,” Mike whispers, and for the first time in his life Harvey believes it. “God, Harvey… _This._ This is what has been missing. You. All the time and I…”

Harvey’s cock twitches against his knuckles and a small, low moan escapes Harvey’s mouth before he can bite his lips to stifle it. He takes a short step backwards and Mike looks up at him, blinking. 

“What are we going to do now?” Mike’s voice is far too small and at the same time a giant question. 

Holding his trousers up with one hand, Harvey cups Mike’s face with the other, threatening to drown in Mike’s wide, glittering eyes. He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, brushing his thumb over Mike’s cheek. “I—“

Mike covers Harvey’s hand with his for a moment before he withdraws. “You would have let me marry her,” he murmurs, narrowing his eyes. “You would have let me do that and you would have watched.”

“I would,” Harvey says, redoing the buttons of his trousers with trembling fingers, surreptitiously sniffling, trying to disguise it as a sharp inhale. 

“You’re an idiot.”

Harvey’s head shoots up at that, at the overwhelming tone of affection and love in Mike’s words, and he finds Mike shaking his head and smiling at him. It’s the most beautiful thing Harvey has ever seen.

“I guess I am,” he nods, smiling back tentatively. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Mike’s smile broadens for a second before it fades until it’s almost completely gone. Almost. “Listen, I don’t know… I mean, I’m going to need some time, I don’t think I can… Not just yet, I mean.” His eyes cloud briefly but then he smiles again and Harvey can’t do anything else but stare. “But I want to.”

“Yeah,” he smiles back, and this time he can feel it so much it makes his eyes sting. “Me too.”

“Good,” Mike says and slowly rises from the sofa. “You…” His hands move to his belt as if in slow motion and he pauses for a moment. “You haven’t asked to see mine.”

“Not now.” Harvey catches Mike’s hands in his before he can start to undo the buckle and gives them a gentle squeeze. “It can wait. You will show me one day. I know that and that’s enough.”

 _It’s more than I ever dared to hope for_ , Harvey thinks and when he pulls Mike into his arms and holds him close, he knows that it is true, that Mike will show him and that he wants to. He knows that this is the one when his lips find Mike’s.

Everything is going to be as it should be, as it has always been meant to be. 

Everything is going to be all right.

 

~ fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [sal-si-puedes](http://sal-si-puedes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come and say "Hi!"!


End file.
